


Tribute

by SeductiveSiren69



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Blood, Blood and Injury, Dubious Consent, F/M, Menstruation, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-08-05 21:06:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16375010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeductiveSiren69/pseuds/SeductiveSiren69
Summary: And now, this: another offering, another watcher and the blood sacrifice.The Offering is an 8000-year-old Northern secretive ceremony in which the participants (A boy and a girl) must lay with one another offering their virtue as a tribute to the old gods. Eddard 'Ned' Stark worries that one or both of his eligible children may be chosen as tributes and the stress it would put on his family. Sansa Stark is certain all will be well but if her sister's Arya dreams come true…No, the gods wouldn't be so cruel.





	1. Prologue: The Offering-Past

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly original concept The Offering ceremony is loosely loosely based off the Tribute ceremony from the Hunger Games but instead of death for the chosen participants you get the loss of virginity.

The old gods have sent a white raven.  The end of the long summer is near.”

“Are you sure my Lord? The Citadel predicted-“

“The old gods send a warning to its offerings years in advance.” Lord Eddard sighed. “For more than 8000 years the old gods have never been wrong. The north must harvest food and store its supplies longer than all the lands in the seven kingdoms combined. Our crops die and wither sooner than the Reach and the Vale, and we have fewer ports to trade or fish then Dorne, The Reach, Kings Landing, The Storm Lands and even the Iron Islands. The North does not have time to dawdle when it comes to surviving the long cold winters like our Southron brothers have the luxury to do.”

“Yes, Lord Stark” Maester Luwin scurried closer to Lord Eddard’s side and reluctantly tugged on his maesters chain. A look of puzzlement grew on his tired and weary brow. “But, the Citadel hasn’t sent a white raven documenting these changes and the leaves on the trees are still a lush evergreen. Not to mention the snow on the ground falls less than an inch each day and melts before the sunset.”

“How much information has the Citadel informed you about the ways of the old gods? Most importantly, the Offering ceremony?”  

Maester Luwin paused for a second, cleared his throat and replied. “With all my extensive research during all my years working for you in the North, I‘m afraid it’s very little. Your library only gives vague brief accounts and even the documentation from previous Winterfell maesters only provided dates and times.” Maester Luwin looked down at Lord Eddard who never once looked up from a strange large worn and weathered manuscript he had never seen before. “Lord Eddard, may I be so brave as to ask why?”

“We Northerners are a very superstitious folk when it comes to certain pacts with the old gods,” he smiled. “For over 1000 years the Starks of Winterfell have only begun to record documentation of the offerings, their names, family and linage, the elders and the watchers. If there was a slip up or a catastrophe that occurred such as worshipers of the new gods attending the pact or ceremonies without offering a sacrifice or going back on their word. “

“Their word, my Lord?”

“Yes, their word.” He turned the book to a blank page and looked up briefly for a moment. Before he had the opportunity to ask, the old Maester dug into the voluminous grey sleeves of his robe and placed a quill and a bottle of ink on Lord Eddard’s desk. He popped the small cork from the bottle, dipped the quill into the ink and proceeded to document the date and time.   

“And what word would I or rather they would have to give?”  

“A pact to the old gods and the new. The maester at the Offering three and twenty years ago had sent word to the Citadel of this pact.” Lord Eddard looked up from the book and closed it the very second the ink had dried.  

“And this caused, “Maester Luwin licked his lips. “Problems..I would presume?”

“Yes,” Lord Eddard exhaled. “Roberts Rebellion. The events before that led to my father Lord Rickard Stark and my brother Brandon’s death in Kings Landing by the hands of the Mad King. My sister Lyanna’s untimely death and-“

“Say no more my Lord,” Maester Luwin waved his hand dismissively causing his robe to flow side to side.  “I won’t attend or doc-“

“No, you must.” Lord Eddard angrily interrupted. His anger caused Maester Luwin a man of very few expressions or abrupt mannerisms to step back hastily. Fear crept over his face until it had disappeared into a stoic stony gaze. “My apologies,” Lord Eddard answered. “I did not mean to startle you. But the pact…some offerings can..well it might require the assistance of a maester.”

“I understand My Lord,” Maester Luwin nodded. “Whatever you need me to do, I will do. Just let me know when you need me to pledge my allegiance to your cause.”

“Thank you, Maester Luwin.” Lord Eddard faintly smiled. “Please send ravens to all Northern houses that the white raven has arrived, and we need a list of names of all the eligible offerings and watchers. “Maester Luwin bowed his head and slowly drifted from the solar.

Lord Eddard pushed his chair from his desk and kneaded his right temple rather roughly. The stress of the upcoming event had resulted in a small ache of the head. He opened a glass-paneled window inside his solar and inhaled deeply. The cool breeze drifting inside caressed his face and eased his tension like a lovers embrace. He didn’t mean to lose his bearings with Maester Luwin but he had to make it known how imperative the situation would be and he needed to know that the maester was on the same page as him. He couldn’t bear to have a similar mishap like the one that had happened when his father was Lord of Winterfell. He had been so careful to make sure it would never occur again.

The last offering arrived a little over two and half years before his daughter, Sansa was born. The offering had been brief only one offering. A maester from House Cerwyn had been appointed as the ceremonial maester so he didn’t have to go over the important details with Maester Luwin who had only been the head maester for less than a year. The offering had been a happy one as the couple from the offering were from small lesser houses and had married a year later. Lord Eddard wasn’t so certain he would be lucky this time around. Not to mention he had children, three children who were eligible to pledge themselves as offerings. His only consolation was that Brandon and Rickon were far too young and according to his wife Catelyn his daughter, Arya at four and ten hadn’t flowered.  

Lord Eddard rubbed on his temple and inhaled. He would have to go back to the Godswood and retrieve the bowls as soon as the list of names arrived. _The Godswood._ He thought. If only he had sharpened his sword another day or at a later time but it didn’t matter. _The old gods would have found me._  

******************

Eddard had been sitting next to the heart tree and had only removed his sword, Ice from its sheath when he had spotted the white raven. It perched itself on a lower branch of the wierwood as if it was using the white branches as camouflage.

“Soon,” It cawed. Its cold dead eyes staring at his stilled frame, red eyes like shimmering rubies, a pool of blood and fire. “Soon,” It cawed once more. “Offer…. soon…soon….SOON!” The raven spread its wings and flew off into the distance.  

 _No_! Eddard internally yelled. His thoughts were echoes of impending doom. _“NO!”_  

***********

Eddard released himself from his personal thoughts and looked off into the distance inside the Godswood. “The bowls,” he whispered to himself. He would have to find them and begin the process. The bowls- five in total- were ancient black obsidian glass orbs that had been passed down from Stark to Stark for centuries. Each bowl was presented to the Old Gods in the Winterfell Godswood. The Lord of Winterfell or most importantly the eldest Stark would cut his hand, offering a blood sacrifice to the old gods without this blood there would be dire consequences. What the consequences would be he didn't know, but he always wondered if the old saying “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” pertained to this reason alone.  

Once the elder Stark sacrifice was complete, the number and names of the offering, the watchers and Northern elders were chosen. The number of offerings could be numerous, Old Nan had proclaimed once that more than a thousand years ago there had been an offering of one hundred couples or precisely two hundred souls to the gods. Eddard was unsure if this had been true, but the council of elder Lords and Ladies had settled on no more than a total of ten numbers in the bowl over 300 years ago.  

Next were the names, all eligible worshippers of the old gods. The chosen girls and boys would be paired as one couple, one complete offering. The first bowl of names were unmarried boys no younger than five and ten and no older than five and twenty of age. This would eliminate the off-putting chance of older males being paired with their bastard daughters if they had any amongst the offerings.  

The next bowl was for the girls, maidens pure and true. There was no minimum age only that they had to have flowered no sooner than a day before the offering. This had always been unsightly to see as the flowered girls had to offer a bloody rag or cloth inside the mouths of the heart tree. One thing that he had disparaged which required a maester or an elder woman-if a maester was unavailable-was the purity check. What this entailed he really didn’t want to know but he knew they had to check that they were maidens. The virginal blood was the ultimate sacrifice to the gods he had read in the offering book.  

The offering was of course the coupling or union inside the Godswood. Each week a new couple would lay with one another until the chosen number was complete. The completions of course were the male spilling his seed into the female, the male would present his bloody member or bloody sword as his brother Brandon had called it to the heart tree. The male would wipe the evidence of the union on a white cloth and place it inside the mouth of the heart tree as their offering.  

What should have been a private union unfortunately wasn’t. Observers had to be present to ensure the coupling and offer to the gods took place. Therefore, the remaining bowls of names had to be picked. The Watchers were boys or men who hadn’t been chosen to partake in the offering. One name was chosen per union to watch as a representative for The Children of the Forest.  The watchers would climb and sit on a branch of a tree near the heart tree. The last names were elders or lords and ladies from each and every one of the noble Northern houses no matter how large or small. There were only three elders’ names chosen along with the Head Elder, Lord Stark. 

Lord Eddard had had the unfortunate luck of being a Watcher and an Elder throughout his life. Once as an Elder during the end of the previous summer and a Watcher when he was only a boy of six and ten. He despised the thought of thinking back to that time.

 _A bloody sword is a beautiful thing._  

*****************

During that summer his brother, Brandon was chosen as an offering amongst the three male names. Eddard had exhaled a sigh of relief that his name wasn’t one of the chosen. Brandon on the other hand couldn’t have been more pleased until the female names had been called. The brothers were frightened because their sister, Lyanna had recently become an eligible candidate. He wasn’t sure who was more nervous his brother, himself, Lyanna or his father who had the unfortunate task of picking and reciting the name for all to hear. Eddard was relieved when Barbrey Dustin or Ryswell at the time was chosen as Brandon’s mate.  

Lady Barbrey had turned a bright shade of scarlet and shyly made her way to the heart tree. It was no secret that she had been enamored with his cocksure older brother as most of the young maidens in the North had been. Once the two were presented to the gods they had proceeded to start the promise ritual which involved the elder Stark piercing the palms of the couples hand, holding their bloody palms together inside the mouth of the Godswood for the blood pact, reciting words until the blood trickle like droplets of crimson rain from their clasped palms into the mouth of the heart tree. The ritual would end once the elder Stark had proclaimed the blood pact was acceptable and the couple sealed the ritual with a kiss.

Once their ritual was complete Brandon’s chest filled up with pride, he smiled and winked at Eddard. The act alone was enough to make him snicker. He had a smile plastered on his face along with his brother and sister Lyanna elated that she wasn’t chosen but each of their smiles had died when Eddard was chosen as Brandon’s watcher.

 _“Incestuous.”_  He had remembered hearing whispers throughout the Godswood, “ _Surely, we will have an unbearably cold winter.”_   _“Or a long one.”_ _“Or both” “No, incest means The Others will return.”_ Ned wasn’t sure how many unfavorable words were spoken throughout the Godswood that day, but he remembered his father, a strong and silent man like himself, yelling _,_ “Enough!”

That was all it had taken for the murmurs to cease. Lord Rickard had pulled and recited the elders name and quickly stormed out of the Godswood. Ned remembered that his father barely spoke to him throughout the remainder of the day but the following morning he had called him and his brother Brandon into his solar. “You know what this means?” Lord Rickard yelled he rubbed his temple while documenting names into the Offering book.  

“Yes father,” Brandon quickly answered.

Lord Rickard glared at his son who was trying unsuccessfully to make eye contact.  Eddard quickly glanced at his father’s disapproving glare, grey against grey.  “Eddard?” Lord Rickard loudly uttered.

“No..father,“ Ned answered timidly. “I mean…I know it’s wrong but isn’t it looked over by the gods? At least I hope it will be during the Offering,” He quietly murmured while lowering his eyes to the floor wishing it would swallow him whole.

Ned wasn’t sure what else he could say, and he was too afraid to look up to stare at his father’s disappointed expression. It wasn’t entirely his fault that he knew so little he had been a ward in the Vale during most of his childhood and adolescent years. When he returned for the offering his brother Brandon had quickly briefed him about the events only fleetingly mentioning that incest between brother and sister, uncle and niece or aunt and nephew were allowed and being appointed as Watcher to a brother or sister’s Offering was also allowed but unfavorably so.

“Dammit, Brandon,” Lord Rickard roared. “You were supposed to go over everything!” Brandon opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it. There would be only one wild wolf in this solar and Lord Rickard was that wolf. He glared at Brandon before softening his expression to his second born son. “Eddard, look at me.” Eddard slowly averted his gaze gradually staring at his father grey eyes, so like his own once more. “It is one thing for the common folk or even lesser noblemen to be chosen as an offering or Watcher from the same family blood line, but it is quite another for both to be named Stark. Some believe it is a sign from the gods to look on us unfavorably throughout the winter and others believe it is the second coming of The Others.”

“The Others?” Ned questioned. _Surely, his father wasn’t serious,_ He thought. _The Others were only creatures used to frighten him and his siblings when Old Nan told her stories._

“No, I don’t believe it.” Lord Rickard shook his head. “The last documentation of this was uncle and niece unions and the Starks names were pulled four times during that offering.” Brandon and Eddard both gasped in unison. “And, the only thing that occurred was minor at best, a longer winter and fewer crops the next fall.”  Lord Rickard closed the book and looked up at his two sons. “You will both honor your duty during the week of Brandon’s offering. Thankfully, your sister Lyanna wasn’t chosen. Brother and sister,” Lord Rickard proclaimed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that had been the offering that had caused the Long Night.” 

_No!_

Unfortunately, for the Starks that offering, the watching of his brother’s union and the maesters violation of the pact had caused a series of disastrous events. Three offerings, three Stark deaths, Roberts Rebellion, three marriages Stark-Tully, Baretheon-Lannister and Arryn-Tully and the crowing of a new king and queen that sealed the end of the bloodshed _._ Three Kingsguard.

_Promise me Ned._

_****************_

_No_! Lord Eddard had internally yelled thinking back to that day and then drifting to the thought of another. It was the day they had found the nights watch deserter. He was the only living one out of the three Nights Watch rangers that had scouted beyond the wall.

“ _The Others, I saw them.”_ His head rolling in the snow and grass after it’s beheading and Theon kicking it lightly when he had assumed Ned’s back had been turned. And then six, three plus an additional three direwolf pups in the snow next to their dead mother bludgeoned by a stag’s horn. And now, this: another offering, another watcher and the blood sacrifice.  


	2. Dreams Can Be Nightmares Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I aged up the characters from the original Canon(ASOIAF/GOT) works. Sansa is 16. Arya is 14. Jon and Robb are 18. Theon is 23.

**Sansa**

“SANSA!” Her little sister Arya screamed in the middle of the night.

Even though they slept in separate bedchambers, she could still hear her sister’s screams as if they were right next to her. She wanted desperately to ignore her sister’s calls but knew she would only continue if she didn’t at least check on her.  Sansa sighed before reluctantly leaving the comfort of her goose down bed and grabbing her silk robe. 

“SANSA…Sansa!”

Sansa ran next door to her sister’s chambers. She opened and shut the door quickly but quietly, so she wouldn’t disturb their brothers, Rickon and Bran sleeping down the hall.

“Shhhh,” Sansa hushed her sister with her angry protest. “Do you want to wake the whole castle with your screams? Mother was furious the other night when you woke up Rickon. He didn’t return to his slumber until the hour of the wolf. Do you wish to wake him again?”

“Go away.” Arya angrily replied. She picked up one of her pillows and threw it at her sister.

Luckily, Sansa abruptly moved barely missing the pillow, which managed to whiz by her ear causing the loose auburn strands in her braid to blow in her face. “First you scream my name.” She picked up the pillow from the cold stone floor and laid it down on Arya’s bed. “And then you tell me to leave. What is the matter with you-” The last angry words froze forming a firm knot inside her throat.  

Arya looked up at her sister with fresh tears rolling down her cheeks from her gloomy grey bloodshot eyes. “I said leave.” She mumbled while wiping stray tears from her cheeks with the palm of her hands.

“Not until you tell me what’s bothering you?” Sansa sat on the edge of her sister’s bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her sister cry or even show a glimmer of fear but now tonight she saw fear in her sister’s eyes. Whatever dream she had dreamt had managed to frighten her to such a level of terror that she called for her eldest sister instead of Father, Mother or even their brother, Robb or their bastard half-brother, Jon. “Was it a dream? A nightmare?”

“No, I mean yes,” Arya coughed while biting her lower lip to hold back the tears.  

Was it the same dream from the other night?” Arya nodded. She held her legs closely to her chest. After a few moments of silence Sansa continued. “Do you want to talk about it?”  

Arya reluctantly shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “You’ll think I’m mad.”

“No, I won’t” Sansa slowly rubbed her sister’s back and disheveled braid. _No matter how carefully her mother braided her sister’s hair she always managed to ruin it._  Sansa thought. _But I’m sure she had a reason to muss up her braid tossing and turning from the unpleasant dream she had._

“Yes, you will.” Arya retorted. “You’ll laugh and then you’ll tell Jeyne and Beth tomorrow during our sewing lessons.”

Sansa exhaled a long stressful groan. “No, I won’t.” Arya looked up at her with a distrustful stare. Sansa placed her right palm over her heart and whispered. “I promise.”

Now it was Arya’s turn to let out a groan. “Ok,” she mumbled. “But if you yell or tattle on me I promise I’ll hide a sheep shift inside your room where you will never find it.”

“You have my word.” Sansa chuckled.

“The…dream..I dreamt.” Arya paused. She held her knees closer to her chest before continuing. “I dreamt I was called during the offering. I had to sacrifice my virtue as an offering to the gods.”

“Arya,” Sansa held her sisters’ cheek so that they were staring face to face. “You can’t or won’t be chosen as an offering. You haven’t flowered yet.”

“I know that.” Arya turned her head away from her sister, held her legs tightly and rocked back and forth. “It felt so real and that’s not the worse-“

“What?” Sansa said with a look of concern and worrisome distress.  

“Never mind.” Arya dismissed the thought. She picked up her pillow from the ledge of her bed and laid it next to her red oak headboard. “Forget what I said…you’re right it was only a dream.” Arya laid down, closed her eyes and pretended to go back to sleep.  

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk?” Sansa inquired.

“No, I just want to go back to sleep.”  Arya turned her body away from her sister still sitting in the same position on the edge of her bed. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

Sansa waited a second to see if her sister would change her mind but then gave up after a lengthy lingering silence filled the room. She didn’t want to pester her sister to confess what was bothering her but still. “Arya?”

“Yes.” Arya faintly whispered.

Sansa inhaled deeply and sighed. “Can I sleep with you,” She asked. I swear it will only be just for the night.”

Arya stilled in her bed to the point Sansa believed her sister had drifted off to sleep without answering her until her sister feigned a frustrated sigh. “Ok,” she huffed moving over a little to give her sister some room in the small frame bed.

“Good Night, Arya.” Sansa murmured before dozing off.

“Good Night, Sansa,” Arya retorted with a slight faint smile plastered on her face she was certain her sister couldn’t see.

 *****************

It must happen Catelyn, every eligible Northern male and female who worship under the old gods must participate. Ned replied to his frustrated wife.  

Sansa was once again forced to attend a meeting with her father and mother in his solar to discuss removing her name and place from the offering. The meetings had become more and more frequently after her father Ned had told them about the white raven and what it entailed a few weeks ago. At first Catelyn furiously protested that Robb and Sansa names must be removed from the offering. But her mother had given up on asking for Robb’s name to be removed from the offering a week ago when he told her he would go rather she wanted him to or not. After that Catelyn put all her energy into removing Sansa from the ceremony.  

“Ned,” Catelyn yelled. “Sansa worships the new gods the same as I and my father, sister, brother and every sane individual in the seven kingdoms. This offering is barbaric and uncivilized.”

Eddard angrily stared at his wife. “Are you mocking my gods, Catelyn?”  

“Of course not.” Catelyn replied not looking up to meet her husbands frustrated glare. “I just think our daughter wouldn’t be of much use in your ceremony. She worships the seven.”

“And the old gods too,” Eddard interrupted. “Catelyn this decision is not up to you.”

Catelyn eyes wavered back and forth from her husband to her daughter. “You’re right, Ned.” Catelyn calmly spoke. “This decision is not mine or yours to make,” she turned to look at her eldest daughter. “It’s yours, Sansa.”

“Mother…I” Sansa stuttered. She knew what her mother was going to say, and she wished she could make her stop. She didn’t want to choose between her mother’s or her father’s, gods. She liked them both, that was the reason why she worshiped them simultaneously. She could sing songs in the Sept with mother and Septa Mordane and then would quietly stroll to the Godswood to pray silently next to the weirwood tree. Although, she mostly went there to spend time with Lady now but that was beside the point worshiping both gods was an easy way not to choose. She just wanted to make everyone happy but now…now she was doing the complete opposite.

“Go on, Sansa tell your father.” Catelyn said with intense absolution that her daughter would agree with her and only her. “You want out of this ceremony. If you are chosen, then your virtue would be besmirched and the prince or any noble high lord for that matter won’t take you as his wife.” Catelyn smiled. “Go on Sansa don’t be afraid to tell your Father how you feel.”

“I…I,” Sansa uttered while silently praying that a miracle would quickly end this interrogation.  She didn’t want to choose.

“Sansa,” Ned sighed he stared into his daughters’ worrisome eyes. “You don’t have to make a decision today. The ceremony is in a months’ time and if you choose to worship the new gods only we will find a way to take care of this matter.”

“Father,” Sansa hesitantly asked. “What will happen if I choose not to attend?”

Ned groaned. “I didn’t want to have to tell you right away but if you choose to follow the new gods I will allow it, but it means you will not be allowed to attend the autumn harvest festival or enter the Godswood without being accompanied.”

Sansa’s father knew what that meant to her. Since the Starks weren’t Southron lords they didn’t have tourneys or celebrations with knights and pageantry like they did in the south. The festivals for the old gods was the only thing even practically close to a tourney they would eat, drink and dance with noble and lesser lords throughout the North. Sansa had planned to practice her dancing and even using her newly found womanly virtues to flirt with the young men who would frequent the festival. Her friends, Ruth Lake and Tayne Stout who were older then her by a year or two were even planning on teaching her and Jeyne how to do just that. But if she disowned the old gods then she wouldn’t be allowed to attend without a nosey sour faced chambermaid, Winterfell guard or even worse her brother Robb ruining her fun. Sansa thought of how Maester Luwin, Septa Mordane and even her mother who worshiped the new gods attended the summer festival when she was younger.

“But, father what about Maester Luwin, Septa Mordane and Mother-“

“Is married to a man who follows the old gods and Septa Mordane and Maester Luwin work for me and both understand the old ways and are pardoned by the old gods. But, you my dear,” Ned held his daughters’ hand. “If you choose to leave the old gods and their ways by refusing to honor the most important and sanctimonious tradition as the Offering, you will be banned from all the old ways and it’s traditions no matter if you feel they are good or evil. Refusing to attend the offering when you are an eligible candidate would not only curse you but also this House if you continue to worship the old gods. I won’t allow such a desecration to befall you or any of your brothers, sister or even every individual in this household. The only way you can continue to attend is if you marry a devout follower of the old gods.

“A northern lord?” Sansa mumbled. “But then I can’t marry the prince and Lady?”

“Will be looked after by your brothers and sisters or even myself in the Godswood.”  Ned let go of his daughter’s hand after given it a slight squeeze. “But your mother and I won’t need your decision today or even tomorrow you have a few weeks to think it over.” Ned smiled. “Now if you and your mother will excuse me I have a meeting I need to attend with Maester Luwin and Vayon Poole about this month’s finances.”

***************

“You’ll make the right decision, Sansa.” Catelyn said while brushing her daughter’s hair into a carefully plaited braid.

Sansa tuned out her mother for the second time today wishing she would’ve allowed her to brush her own hair and have a moment alone. She had just turned six and ten and rarely needed her mother to ready her for bed. It was frustrating enough that she had become extra cautious following the last weeks after Father had told them about the white raven, the Offering and then a week after that Father’s friend and her uncle by law, John Arryn sudden death. It would’ve been extremely dreary circumstances if another raven hadn’t arrived stating the king, the queen and all his court including the crown prince were planning to visit Winterfell in less than two months’ time.   

Her mother became convinced that Sansa being around the same age as the prince that the King would ask for Sansa and his eldest son to be joined in marriage, soon. Since that time her Septa had been extra careful at teaching Sansa how to expertly embroider favors such as handkerchiefs embroidered with a golden stag and lion for the crown prince.  

“Your mother will be pleased with your work,” Septa Mordane smiled at her needlework during today’s lesson. “Your embroidery is fit for a queen. Sooner or later you’ll be sewing the Kings tunics and even a bonnet or blanket for a little prince or princess.”

Arya wrinkled her nose and stifled a loud yawn. “And you,” Septa Mordane shook her head in disapproval at Arya’s handwork. “Need to practice your stitching. Maybe if it was half as good as your sister’s you could sew a veil to cover those unsightly bags under your eyes.”

Jeyne, Beth and the other girls in the sewing circle muffled their giggles. “She’ll need to sew a large veil to cover that long horse face of hers.” Jeyne chuckled.

“Arya, stitching is improving.” Sansa quickly changed the subject while giving Jeyne a nasty look. “But my direwolf, Lady could stich better needlework with her one paw then you could with your large hideous hands.” Jeyne gaped at Sansa with wild confusion.  

“My apologies, Lady Sansa.”

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” Sansa angrily glared at Jeyne. Jeyne looked back and forth from her to the other girls. “We’ll?”

“My…my apologies, Arya.”

“Lady Arya, Jeyne” Sansa growled. “She’s the daughter of your father’s liege lord and you will address her as such.” She glared at Jeyne with an icy cold stare that could freeze the roaring fire cackling inside the hearth in the room.

“My…my…apologies Lady Arya.” 

******************

Sansa smiled thinking over today’s lessons.  She wasn’t sure what had come over her or why she would want to protect her little sister they weren’t particularly the closest out of all their siblings. But after last night with Arya’s screaming for her and later sleeping in her sister’s bed chambers she felt like she just wanted to protect her. _It was only a dream._ Sansa thought. But she knew it was something more than that. The look on Arya’s face the other night and even her low muffled yells, protest and jerking back and forth throughout the remainder of the night had made her nervous, practically frightened and concerned for her sister.  

“You need to choose the new gods Sansa,” Catelyn finished the last plait in Sansa’s hair.  “It’s a matter of duty to protect your future sons and daughters and to this family. I love your father but if you are chosen he will be helpless to stop the assault on your virtue and your honor. You understand how important this is?”

“Mother, I’m really tired.” Sansa feigned a yawn. “I promise I will think it over carefully and will make the right decision.” Catelyn stood up and brushed her skirt.  She stared at her daughter as if she wanted to press on with the matter but instead nodded, kissed her forehead and wished her daughter a good night.

After her mother had closed her door she blew out her candle and climbed into her bed. She wasn’t sure if she should fall to sleep or wait a while to see if her sister needed her for the night. But after a couple of minutes she laid her head down on her pillow and dozed off without realizing it only to be abruptly awaken from her slumbers by a blood curdling scream.

“SANSA!”


	3. The Old Gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly original concept The Offering ceremony is loosely loosely based off the Tribute ceremony from the Hunger Game but instead of death for the chosen participants, you get the loss of virginity. See end notes for more information.

**Sansa**  
  
“Are you certain?” Ned Stark asked his daughter for the second time. “You can not go back on your word once the Offering begins and if you are chosen…”  
  
“Yes, Father I am certain,” Sansa replied. She had flagged her father down only seconds before he was scheduled to leave that morning to go to his weekly visit to Wintertown. Sansa had told him that she needed to speak to him today with only a few days left before she was scheduled to give her decision to Father and Mother. She wanted to let Father know her decision first as she was quite certain her mother would be very upset more than likely completely unbearable once she told them both that she would attend the Offering. Sansa thought that if Father knew her decision he could weaken the storm of her mother’s wrath. But looking at her father inhaling shallow breaths only to exhale in staccato huffs she pondered if maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea.

“Father, if you are not pleased.”  
  
“No,” Lord Eddard retorted. “I am pleased with whatever decision you make. Sansa, you are woman almost grown, free to make your own choices. It’s just if you are chosen.” He paused and stared at her with the gloomiest of expression she had ever seen coming from her father’s eyes. “And if Robb or even Jon.”  
  
“Father,” Sansa stared back at her father while taking a large gulp to fight back the tears that were threating to fall from her vivid blue eyes. “Father, you must have faith, surely the old gods will be merciful during this offering.” She softly smiled.  
  
“Yes, you are correct Sansa.” Eddard chimed. “I will speak with your mother and let her know about your decision later today.” Eddard weakly grinned before excusing himself from his Solar. “I need to leave quickly for Wintertown if I plan to make it back early before supper. Eddard kissed Sansa tenderly on her forehead before escorting his daughter down the hall to her lessons for the day.  
  
After Sansa had left she lied and told Septa Mordane that she had fallen ill and wished to excuse herself from today’s lessons much to Septa Mordane and even Arya’s disappointment. Septa Mordane released her for the day and she retired to her bedchambers for the rest of the morning and afternoon. Sansa wasn’t completely honest with her Father, the thought had crossed her mind once or twice before making her decision and it wasn’t her faith in the old gods or the new as more than being in utter denial that it could happen to her.

_Surely, the old gods wouldn’t choose me_. Sansa thought. _I am destined to wed the prince._  
  
But after remembering her Father’s sad expression today it had made her contemplate the possibility of the worst-case scenario. If she were chosen she would no longer be a maid and would probably have to marry a Northern Lord or a lesser Southern Lord who would marry her despite her lack of virtue. The thought had filled her with anger for the first time in her life that she was born a girl and if she had been Robb no one would care. But she wasn’t Robb or even a bastard noble-born son like Jon, no, she was a young girl never wed, a maiden that needed to remain pure.  
  
_Although, there was always the Dornish?_ Sansa thought. _They wouldn’t mind if she was a maid or not._  
  
Sansa recalled what Bertha Royce from the Vale had told her when she visited Winterfell last year accompanying her uncle, Yohn and her cousin Waymar Royce who was scheduled to leave for the Nights Watch in less than a fortnight.

_She’s married to some Dornish Lord and I heard he is somewhat handsome maybe Father could find a suitor with similar attributes?_ Sansa pondered on it for a moment but rapidly removed the thought from her mind. She hated the extreme cold of the North but would gladly take it over the fabled excruciating heat, sun, and sand of Dorne.  
  
Sansa collapsed on top of her bed and tried desperately to remove the picture of her Father’s melancholy expression from her mind. She wouldn’t be picked. Robb and even Jon wouldn’t be picked. The Starks would endure during this offering of that she was certain.

“Father needs to stop dreading over such things,” Sansa whispered to herself before quietly dozing off.

  
**Jon**  
  
“Arya!” Jon yelled across the courtyard. His little sister pretended not to hear him this morning when he saw her sneaking into the stables more than likely avoiding her needlework lessons. “Arya!” Jon yelled even louder than before and when he saw his little sister quicken her pace he proceeded to catch her before she disappeared from his sight. He had managed to lightly grab her arm before she scurried around the corner.  
  
“Arya,” Jon said nearly breathless from running throughout the courtyard.  
  
“Jon,” Arya squeaked.  
  
Jon gave her a puzzling look he realized that she looked rather surprised that he had somehow managed to catch her before she was out of his sight. Her eyes scanned back and forth from his face to his hand holding her arm. He quickly released it before speaking.  
  
“I called you this morning in the hallways after we broke our fast and also yesterday after supper,” he said. “In fact, I haven’t had a decent conversation with you in weeks. Have I done something to upset you? It’s not about my plans to join the Nights Watch, is it?” Jon pleaded for an answer.  
  
He had been contemplating leaving Winterfell to join the Nights Watch if King Robert asked Father to be the Hand of the King. He had told no one but Arya who seemed rather sad but understood the severity of staying in Winterfell without Father’s protection. Lady Stark would make Jon’s life more unbearable than it already was. With Father gone she would have complete control of Lording over Winterfell affairs although, Robb would help he knew Lady Stark would really be the one in charge and Winterfell would hold no place for Ned Starks bastard.  
  
Arya looked up at her half-brother's face and for a brief moment, Jon could’ve sworn he saw tears forming in her eyes. “It is, isn’t it,” Jon whispered. “I swear that I would never leave if you don’t want me to.” He knelt down so that they were both staring at each other face to face. “Arya, I promi-“  
  
“No, it’s not that.” Arya interrupted. She quickly wiped the tear in her left eye before it had a chance to fall. “I…um. It’s Septa Mordane and Jeyne..they were…being mean to me.” Arya half chuckled. “I’ve been avoiding everyone to work on my needlework, alone.”  
  
Jon tilted his head and gave Arya an inquisitive stare. “Needlework?” He knew Arya was telling a lie but he didn’t want to press too hard or she would close up and avoid him again. “I can help you if you’re having difficulties. I’m not an expert seamstress like Lady Stark, Lady Sansa or even Septa Mordane but I mend my own tunics whenever I get a chance.”  
  
“No, it's different then mending tunics,” Arya chewed on her lip but then paused when she realized Jon had noticed it. She only chewed her lip when she was nervous. “Jon, I need to get back.”  
  
“Arya,” Jon yelled before she had a chance to walk away. “If you need me…” He looked her in the eyes and raised her chin so her eyes were staring back at him. “Just let me know I’m your brother and I want you to know I’m here for you. Arya, please know that?” He mussed with her hair only a little to reassure her. But she only nodded and then turned around to leave. When she did Jon detected a red stain on her dress. “Arya, you’re bleeding.”  
  
“What,” she yelped.  
  
“Your dress it’s stained with blood. I think you need to see the Maester it could be-“  
  
“I need to go.” Arya pulled her dress up into her hands trying desperately to cover the stain. “I need to go now,” she yelled before running inside of Winterfell back doors so that no one would see her escape to her chambers.

  
**Sansa**  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Sansa had heard Arya’s rampant footsteps scurrying to her chambers. She had slammed the door with an abrupt thud that would have caused quite an alarm from her brothers down the halls if they weren’t outside practicing their archery and sparring with one another in the courtyard. Sansa had known something was amiss when she heard Arya returning to her room so early in the mid-afternoon. She had knocked on the door and was surprised that it was locked. It was only when Sansa had promised she wouldn’t tell, whatever it was that Arya wanted to keep a secret, that Arya had unlocked her door. And now she was watching her sister half dressed in a woolen shift with her dress pooled in a small pile near the fireplace on the floor.  
  
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Arya fed a log to the kindling fire inside the hearth.  
  
“I’m not sure,” Sansa said while watching her sister poke the embers inside the hearth. “Building a fire when you should be practicing your needlework.”  
  
Arya starred quizzically at her sister. If Sansa wasn’t mistaken it looked like she had been crying. But before she had the chance to investigate the matter further Arya turned her attention back to the fireplace. She picked up a fire poker and moved the log in the fireplace causing it to become the catalyst for the increasingly ever-growing flames. Watching the flames grow and grow as if she were in a trance. Moments later Arya finally spoke.  
  
“Can needlework cover a stain,” Arya inquired.  
  
“What,” Sansa responded quickly. “It depends but why would you need-“  
  
Sansa didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence before her sister picked up her dress and tossed it into the fireplace.  
  
“Oh my gods, Arya what are you doing,” Sansa yelled. “Have you completely lost your mind! Mother will be furious!”  
  
“I don’t care.“ Arya pushed the remaining layers of the dress into the fireplace. “I won’t let them, they can’t make me.” Arya sat on her bed.  
  
Sansa picked up a large tankard of water, dousing the flames and the ruined dress. She picked it up with a fire poker and sucked in her teeth. The once golden dress was covered in withered blackened material. She shook her head and tossed it into a brass pan used to remove ash and waste. Sansa made a mental note to dispose of the dress before a household servant or her mother could discover the remains.

Sansa turned towards her sister to finish their conversation.

“Arya what are you talking about, who..” Sansa retorted. It was then that she saw the tears running down her sister’s face. Her grey eyes shimmering like crystal pools of ice. It was only then that she had come to the realization. “You’ve flowered.”  
  
“Yes,” Arya whispered.  
  
“You’re a woman now.” Sansa smiled. She gently held her sister’s hand and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away her sister’s tears. “This is wonderful news it means you can marry, raise a family.”  
  
“I don’t want that.” Arya rubbed her eyes to wipe away the remaining trail of tears. “I don’t want any of this!” Arya slid from her bed and cracked her window opened to air out her room. She inhaled the fresh cool breeze and glanced down at the courtyard lightly covered in snow. Her brother Rickon and Bran were pretending to strike one another with wooden swords, Old Nan was watching her grandson, Hodor readying a horse from the stables for Hullen, Theon and Robb were standing near the armory conversing with Ser Rodrick, Mikken the blacksmith was tutoring his new apprentice and then she saw her brother Jon bending down to pat his direwolf, Ghost. She shut the window abruptly, marched towards her sister and held her hand.

“Please, Sansa,” Arya pleaded a look of distress and desperation shrouded over her tearstained face. “Please, don’t tell anyone that I’ve flowered. Father will have no choice but to….to put my name. I’ll have to attend the Offering and my dreams, my nightmares will come true.”  
  
Sansa shook her head. It had taken her weeks to finally get her sister to confess to what had been bothering her at night. Every night it was the same dream. Arya had been chosen as an offering. No matter how many times she had consoled her sister that it wouldn’t happen because she hadn’t bled. Arya would still insist that the dream had felt real, an impending omen waiting to befall her in a moments notice. Sansa had prayed to the old gods and the new that the Offering would past before Arya had come of age, flowered, but now it was too late.  
  
“Sansa,” Arya replied. She was holding her sister’s hand rather tightly. “I haven’t told you everything.”  
  
“Everything?”  
  
“Yes, you see Jon…” Arya licked her lips nervously. “Jon..he was chosen too.”

Sansa inhaled deeply. She was trying her best not to gasp at the revelation. _No wonder Arya had been so uneasy these past few weeks._ Sansa thought. _It all made sense now if Jon was chosen. No, this is nonsense!_    
  
“Arya, Jon won’t be chosen,” Sansa spoke with the most certainty. “And if by some chance the old gods see fit to choose him.” Sansa kissed her sister on the forehead. She pulled Arya chin up so that they were looking at one another, Stark grey and Tully blue. “The old gods would never be so cruel to choose you too, I’ll make sure of it.” Sansa squeezed her sister’s hand for reassurance. “Have faith little sister the old gods will know what to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer & partial Spoiler: The Offering ceremony will follow the Reaping ceremony from Hunger Games. Arya is Prue and Sansa is Katniss. This is a Jonsa fic with minor Ned x Cat romantic relationship chapters only. All other relationships are strictly platonic. Sorry if I mislead anyone otherwise and will tag update if need to. Please DM me here or on Tumblr: Seductivesiren97. Thank you.


End file.
